The Worst Sort of Torture
by MsAnnaGraham
Summary: He had thought that by now he would have built up an immunity to silliness while seriousness was imperative—he had grown up with James and Sirius, after all. But yet again, Tonks seemed to have discovered what he had previously thought a strength and, with that sparkling smile, turned it into a most frustrating weakness. She had been doing that a lot lately.


****_This is a fanfiction. I am in no way profiting from it. And heaven knows that if I could, I would exploit that most merrily. _

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**The Worst Sort of Torture**

Remus knew he should have been paying attention. It was an honor to be included in a cause such as the Order of the Phoenix—to be there, one of many sitting in the high-backed chairs around the worn, black table, treated as an equal by those who knew of his ailment. It was a rarity these days, even while he skulked about the undergrounds with other—well, others like him. He was happy to do his part, of course, but he was sure that there were at least two words that did not exist in his fellow werewolves' dictionaries: 'respect' and 'soap.'

He blinked hard, steeling his focus on the person who was currently speaking. The group's attention was directed toward a person only a couple seats away on the same side of the table, so Remus' view was limited to an unfortunately large, hooked nose. Snape's drawling, droning voice was drier than his hair, which, actually, wasn't saying much. Remus absentmindedly pulled on a loose thread in his robes, his eyes strayed to the person unfortunate enough to have been given the seat to the left of the thin, bat-like form of the Potions master.

If Remus hadn't known any better, he would have toyed with the idea that Mrs. Weasley had surreptitiously placed poor Tonks in that seat of dubious honor as a punishment for breaking one of her favorite china tea cups the other day. Although he doubted Molly would sink so low, it would indeed have been an effective punishment, if the look on Tonks' face was anything to go by. It much too easy to sneak a glance at the young girl while pretending to listen to Snape, as she sat directly between them.

She leaned against a fist propped up on an elbow, absently biting the fingernails of her other hand. The utter lack of effort used to disguise her boredom made an unconscious smile pull at the corner of his mouth, even as she glanced idly around the room, her jaw working on what was likely to be bits of fingernail. When her gaze caught Remus', with a jolt that he felt deep in his spine, he opted for an eyebrow raise, as if to say, "_This is _very_ interesting, isn't it?_"

Tonks put a hand up to her face. At first, he thought she was hiding a smile. When she revealed a large, buck-toothed grin, he snorted, drawing the looks of a couple people near them. He put a casual hand up to his mouth and looked up at the ceiling, his stubbornly blank face twitching.

He had thought that by now he would have built up an immunity to silliness while seriousness was imperative—he had grown up with James and Sirius, after all. But yet again, Tonks seemed to have discovered what he had previously thought a strength and, with that sparkling smile, turned it into a most frustrating weakness.

She had been doing that a lot lately.

Instantly, the almost-smile melted off his face. His lip trembled with only a shadow of the self-revulsion that ate a hole into his gut. He forced all thoughts of her soft skin and expressive eyes out of his mind—mowing them over with a train-like mantra: It's impossible. It's impossible. It's impossible. With every word, his heart sank deeper into an icy puddle, but he reveled in it. He soaked in the misery and made himself comfortable in it. He couldn't expect any different for the rest of his life, after all. He couldn't expect any better for a werewolf.

After the meeting ended, Tonks cornered Remus, cutting off his casual yet futile race for the door to gasp in the fresh air his lungs so desperately called for. Hands on her hips and eyebrows sterner than he had ever seen them, she asked bluntly, "Remus Lupin, what's the matter?"

He blinked, swallowing back the many things that were very much the matter. "Nothing," he said in what he hoped was a surprised yet curious voice.

Her gaze didn't waver. "Are you lying?"

His eyes ran down the soft curve of her nose, to the short strands of pink hair that fell in her face. Something deep in his stomach was rising—an animal, another clawing wolf that he feared one day he would also lack control over. He gripped the sleeve of his robes with a trembling hand for some morsel of comfort. Then, with stiff cheeks, he smiled. "Of course not." Her doubtful eyes followed him as he excused himself, walking as quickly as he dared. He had to get out of there. He had to get away.

Once he was in the safe enclosure of a bathroom—the nearest respite he could find—he leaned against the sink, gasping, shuddering. The pressure of the unwanted desire rose within him, sending helpless shivers across his skin. It was tinged with that ever-present fear.

Fear that he was falling in love.

Fear that he wouldn't be able to control himself next time.

Fear of that slim, thrilling possibility that she—somehow—felt the same way.

Remus grimaced at his reflection, eyes empty and face pale. His situation was full with impossibilities, headed with the most bold proclamation and obvious truth that she could never feel that pull in her stomach like he did. How could she?

Who in their right mind would allow themselves to fall in love with a beast?

With another deep breath, he gathered his wits and straightened his spine, his chin stuck out slightly in a stubborn façade of confidence. Then he left, ready to face the world and the teetering loads of unfairness it had heaped upon him.

Ready to face _her_ with another smile, another day, another lie.


End file.
